Authentic
by Lampito
Summary: After a difficult job, Dean and Sam invite Castiel to take an afternoon off, and attend a Civil War re-enactment with them. The Angel of the Lord is fascinated by the attention to detail, and just wants to help... a one-shot.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine, I just tear their clothes off and make 'em cry for the amusement of others.

**Title: **Authentic

**Summary: **After a difficult job, Dean and Sam invite Castiel to take an afternoon off, and attend a Civil War re-enactment with them. The Angel of the Lord is fascinated by the attention to detail, and just wants to help... a one-shot.

**Rating:** T. Because Dean.

**Blame: **At some point in the not too distant past, one of the Denizens of the Jimiverse (they're depraved, but they get shit done) threw out a prompt where Castiel accompanied the Winchesters to watch a Civil War re-enactment – if anybody remembers who it was, please identify the culprit in the reviews. Or own up, if it was you. The plot bunny got through, and this is what he dictated. He's a cute little bunny; I think his name might be Abraham. That, or Robert Edward.

* * *

**Authentic**

It was a breathtakingly audacious scheme for even the most powerful of demons: abduct a fledgling for Heaven, to be used as a pawn, a gambling chip, or maybe even raised within the infernal faction responsible for the astonishing smash and grab raid.

The kidnappers had anticipated that Castiel, celestial steward for his Father, would stop at nothing to retrieve his baby brother, so well before the heist they took steps to shield themselves and their doings from Heaven's gaze.

What the kidnappers hadn't planned on was the Sheriff of Heaven calling on the help of the Winchesters.

In the uncanny way they often Hunted, with practically no intel, no starting point, and nothing to go on except their experience, hunches and unfortunate familiarity with the way demons' minds work, against all odds Dean and Sam were able to locate and rescue the baby angel and destroy the demons.

"This has been seriously stressful on you, dude," sympathised Dean, as Castiel practically drooped with relief to have the fledgling back. "Why don't you put down the tool box for a few hours, and hang with us?"

"There's a Civil War re-enactment society doin' one of their annual displays here," Sam added, "Why don't you come and watch?"

Castiel considered the invitation. "Perhaps I will," he replied with a small smile.

Another angel was summoned to take the cooing, gurgling little bundle of angelic cute back to his proper home, whilst Castiel joined the Winchesters to congregate with a crowd of spectators. Like a kid let loose in a candy store, Sam pointed out the uniforms, weapons and formations of the two opposing 'armies'.

"I am familiar with the human impulse to commemorate wartime occasions, as remembrance of the dead, and reminders of the human toll such conflict takes," Castiel frowned, "But I don't understand why anyone would want to re-enact a battle."

"It's a form of remembrance, I guess," replied Sam, "These guys want to understand what their forbears went through, how they lived, how they fought, even how they died. They only use blank ammunition of course, but apart from that they try to make everything about the experience as authentic as possible. The clothes, the weapons, the food, the tents, even their undergarments, they put an enormous amount of effort into it."

"They even got hookers," Dean noted happily, indicating a woman who was dressed more provocatively than those taking roles as other camp followers.

"Well, the association between armies and prostitutes is as old as armies," Sam noted. "It's not nice, but it's a reality, and it was then, too."

"If you'd ever had to sit through a History class, you'd understand why this is so much more interesting," Dean told the angel, "In a book, it's just a list of dates and places. Boooooriiiiiiing. This way, you might actually get kids, or even adults, to want to learn something."

Castiel considered their answers. "I am sure that it would please Father to know that these people seek ways to remember what has happened before, and remind themselves of the horror and devastation that warfare causes," he said finally. "They are to be commended for trying to understand the suffering of others."

"Well, I think they enjoy it, too," Dean grinned, pointing out a portly man who was sitting at a campfire and carefully cleaning a longarm. "There's a man who takes a pride in lookin' after his weaponry."

"Nonetheless, I think that Father would approve of this activity," Castiel smiled. "And so do I."

A woman who was carefully attired as a camp follower stirred at a pot over a fire, and carefully tasted it. With a small shriek, she spat out whatever it was, and glared at the pot as if it had bitten her.

"Looks like mom's recipe didn't work out so good this time," Dean chuckled.

"Wonder what's gone wrong?" queried Sam, as the unhappy cook called another woman over to inspect the pot; she too let out a little shriek.

"Maybe they don't cook over open fires very often," Dean suggested, "If you don't know what you're doin', it's easy to let things get burnt."

"During Civil War campaigns, provender was often of a standard that today would be considered unfit for human consumption," Castiel reminded them, "Stale, mildewed, infested with insects or decomposing. If cooked for long enough, it could sometimes be rendered edible, if not terribly appetising."

The man who was cleaning his musket suddenly sat up, look startled, then rose to his feet and made a surprisingly spritely dash for an area enclosed by a tarpaulin.

"Oh dear," grinned Dean, "Bet he's glad that happened before the 'battle'."

In a line of re-enactors who were drilling under the eye of a sergeant, two of them suddenly yelped, and dropped out of line, heading for the latrine pits. A man in a convincingly 'bloodied' apron came dashing out of a hospital tent to follow them.

"Wow," remarked Sam. "Somebody oughta go poke a swab in the catering..."

"Maybe they ate out of that pot," said Dean, nodding to where a small crowd was gathering around the offending cookware to peer at the contents and make faces and noises of horror and disgust. The word 'weevils' was shouted, in increasingly shrill tones, a number of times.

"Gastrointestinal diseases of all sorts were rampant in Civil War camps on both sides," Castiel informed them, "From viral diarrhoea to dysentery, such things would have been common."

As they watched, the men remaining in the drill line stood at ease, then suddenly started fidgeting and scratching uncomfortably. "Those uniforms must really be uncomfortable," Sam noted, "I guess that wool fabric would've been really scratchy, especially when it was unwashed for so long."

"The real problem would have been with parasites," Castiel told him, "Lice and fleas would've been a constant of life during the Civil War, especially for enlisted men, where opportunities to bathe and launder their clothing were limited. Not only did they engender discomfort, they spread diseases, such as typhus and trench fever..."

He was interrupted by a small cracking sound, then sudden yelp; a man who had been sitting and doing some maintenance on a musket jumped up, shaking his hand up and down. The man beside him let out a screech, then looked up, blinking in astonishment, his face as blackened as Wile E. Coyote's would be after he'd stuck his head down the barrel of a cannon with a fizzing fuse.

"Shit!" Sam jumped at the noise, "Did... did those guys just... blow themselves up?"

"The grade of black powder used during the Civil War was of a much lower quality and standard than what is available today," Castiel said, "Accidents when dealing with flintlock mechanisms, where powder residue remained in the pan or the barrel, were quite common, even if the soldier was careful."

As the watched, the man with the soot-blackened face dropped his weapon, and sprinted for the latrine. His pal began to scratch furiously.

Dean turned to the angel with a suspicion in his mind. "Cas," he began casually, "Would you..."

The prostitute let out a small scream, crossed her legs, and hobbled towards the latrine.

"Cas," Dean resumed, "Did you just give the hooker diarrhoea?"

"No," replied Castiel, "She does not have diarrhoea."

"Well, good," muttered Dean, "Because for a moment there, I got this crazy idea that you were..."

"She has gonorrhoea," Castiel clarified. "Of which urinary frequency is a symptom. Sexually transmitted infections, known as venereal disease at the time, were a common affliction in both armies, spread via prostitution..."

There was a resounding boom, and a number of surprised screams.

"Fuck!" Dean picked himself up off the ground, where both Winchesters had thrown themselves flat.

"What the hell was that?" shrieked Sam, getting up.

"Mishaps with cannon were quite common, given the lower quality of powder, the wear on the artillery pieces, and the frequent necessity to train inexperienced artillerymen on the job," Castiel explained, "In this case, the young man was using an implement called a worm on the cannon to swab the barrel, and the residue of powder was..."

"Holy shit!" remarked Dean, nudging his brother to indicate where the cleaning implement had been flung and embedded in a tree by the mishap. The gun crew, who had all had five years knocked off their lives with the fright, clustered around the cannon, trying to figure out what had happened. One of them poked cautiously at the fuse port, then suddenly stood upright, and ran for the latrines. As he ran, he scratched.

"Uh, Cas," Sam began, "There seems to be a certain amount of..."

A woman ran screaming for the hospital tent, her shrieking incoherent except for the words 'rats', 'huge' and 'fucking'.

"Cas," Sam tried again, "Look, I can't help but notice..."

Two more loud bangs signalled two more weapons mishaps.

"That there's a sudden outbreak of..."

Several more people scuttled past, latrine-bound, scratching as they went.

"That is to say, aspects of this particular re-enactment is pretty convincing..."

The women who had tasted the bubbling pot of stew didn't even have time to head for the latrine; she just turned away before she threw up.

"And I find myself wondering..."

A man doing a strange dance skittered past, pulling off his coat and shirt as he went. He flung the garments on the ground, and began to jump up and down on them.

"Whether you might be..."

A particularly stout man yanked down his pants, scratched furiously, then waddled with amazing speed to a half barrel being used as a horse trough, and sat in it with a relieved groan.

"Damn it, Cas," snapped Dean, "Stop _helping!_"

Castiel turned to him. "I am merely assisting them to experience this re-enactment as authentically as possible," he said, confused, as the man with the sudden onset of acute prickly heat and pubic lice shooed at the horses that stood watching him with placid curiosity.

"Cas, the idea is to remember the occasion, not afflict everyone with the diseases and mishaps of the day!" Sam told him.

"And yet, these things are authentic to the conditions prevalent before and during the battle," Castiel replied, "If they seek a realistic experience, why would they not include these things also?"

"Because... because... look, wearing period clothes would be uncomfortable enough, okay?" Sam waved his arms in agitation, "Without having the results of wearing that clothing for weeks at a time! And rats in the hospital tent? Nobody wants to look at that!"

"Infestations of vermin would have been common," Castiel pointed out, "Perhaps if I replace the plastic representations in the surgeon's waste tubs, and fill them with actual amputated limbs, the smell will entice the rodents to..."

"No, no, no!" yapped Sam, "Do NOT put a pile of severed arms and legs anywhere! Don't! Just don't! Don't put severed arms in the hospital tent! Don't put weevils in the food! Don't put viral diseases in the drinking water! Don't put authentic Civil War black powder in the weapons! Don't put lice in the clothing! And don't put STIs in the hookers, okay?"

"Very well," Castiel agreed, and waved a hand. A remarkable calm suddenly fell over the re-enactment. The man in the horse trough let out a sigh of relief, and hauled himself out of the water.

"Okay," Sam nodded, "That's good. Now, just, just, just enjoy the humans re-enacting the scenario on their own. Don't do anything to interfere with the humans. Let them make their own authenticity."

"I just wanted to help," Castiel said in a somewhat forlorn voice, "I wanted to make the experience as memorable as possible for them."

"I think you'll find you've already done that," Dean clapped him on the shoulder, "But seriously, dude, Sam's right. Don't mess with the humans. Just sit back, and watch the show."

After the strange interlude, the re-enactment got back on track, and the spectators buzzed as soldiers from both sides formed skirmish lines, as a prelude to the 'battle' beginning.

"Nobody will actually get hurt," Sam reminded Castiel, "It's only a re-enactment, with no actual live rounds being used."

"This part of the re-enactment does seem strange," Castiel mused, "Re-enacting a battle, and yet nobody will be injured or killed. Although of course I understand that attempting to kill each other for recreational purposes would be deemed morally reprehensible."

"Thank your Dad for that," muttered Dean. "Look, it's what Sam was gettin' at earlier: people want to get a feel for what it would've been like. Without the diseases and the bugs and the food poisoning and the amazing auto-detonating weaponry," he added hurriedly. "Without anybody really getting hurt, they want to re-create the battle scenario as accurately as possible."

Castiel cocked his head, as if consulting some inner database. "The location is accurate," he noted, "Also, the formations being used by both sides." He paused. "Also, the timing is accurate, almost to the minute. Even the number of officers has been represented correctly."

"Like we said," Sam smiled, "People want to re-create the battle – but without anybody getting hurt."

Castiel nodded. "I believe I may understand," he ventured, "They wish to capture the spirit of the occasion, including the hardship, without the truly wretched human misery that was unavoidable during the actual Civil War period. Like the concept of mortification in the modern Catholic Church; the practice is a symbolic means, not a literal end, an aid to contemplation, and must be carried out with prudence."

"That's it," Dean nodded. "So, no afflictin' the re-enactors with the Ten Plagues of America."

"Of course." Castiel turned back to the re-enactment about to play out on the field below them. "They truly are to be commended for the trouble they take to get things as close to how they would originally have been." He felt a surge of empathy for the re-enactors and what they were doing; yes, he thought, his Father would most definitely look upon this, and be pleased. He consulted the celestial source of knowledge again, wondering if there was some way he could assist without interfering with the humans' activities...

"Well, some things are beyond human control," Sam shrugged, "But they've done their research, and they've gotten pretty damned close.

The re-enactors had their history right. The place, the people, everything they could possibly do to re-create what had happened on the day, they had done. Except for the things that humans couldn't control...

Castiel smiled.

Within moments, the sky darkened, thunder rumbled, and drenching rain began to pelt down.

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Reviews are the fertilizer heaped onto the plot bunny cabbage patch!


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